“What you are trying to ask me is whether I am sure we shall be happy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose that is what I mean,” she sighed.

“Well, I can’t answer you. How can I be sure that we shall be happy when neither of us has had any experience of marriage? All I can tell you is that I am perfectly sure I want to marry you, and equally sure that you are not a ‘mere passing fancy’ of mine—what a damned silly question to ask me! If I had ever been such a shuttlehead as to have asked one of my passing fancies to marry me, I shouldn’t be a bachelor today!—and there are two other things I am sure of! One is that I have never cared for any of the charmers with whom I’ve had agreeable connections as I care for you; and another is that I have never in my life wanted anything more than I want to win you for my own—to love, and to cherish, and to guard—Oh, damn it, Annis, how can I make you believe that I love you with my whole heart and body, and mind?” He broke off, and said sharply: “What have I said to make you cry? Tell me!”

“Nothing! I d-don’t know why I began to cry. I think it must be because I’m so happy, and I’ve been feeling so dreadfully miserable!” she replied, wiping her tears away, and trying to smile.

Mr Carleton took her back into his arms. “You’re thoroughly knocked-up, sweetheart. Damn that woman for having foisted her influenza on to you! Kiss me!”

“I won’t!” said Miss Wychwood, between tears and laughter. “It would be a most improper thing for me to do, and you have no right to fling orders at me as though I were one of your bits of muslin, and I won’t submit to being ridden over rough-shod!”

“Hornet!” said Mr Carleton, and put an end to further recriminations by fastening his lips to hers.

Not the most daring of her previous suitors had ventured even to slide an arm round her waist, for although she enjoyed light-hearted flirtation, she never gave her flirts any cause to think she would welcome more intimate approaches. She had supposed that she must have a cold, celibate disposition, for she had always found the mere thought of being kissed, and (as she phrased it) mauled by any gentleman of her acquaintance shudderingly distasteful. She had once confessed this to Amabel, and had privately thought Amabel’s response to be so foolishly sentimental as to be unworthy of consideration. Amabel had said: “When you fall in love, dearest, you won’t find it at all distasteful, I promise you.” And sweet, silly little Amabel had been right! When Mr Carleton had caught Miss Wychwood into his arms, and had so ruthlessly kissed her, she had not found it at all distasteful; and when he did it again it seemed the most natural thing in the world to return his embrace. He felt the responsive quiver that ran through her, and his arms tightened round her, just as some one knocked on the door. Miss Wychwood tore herself free, uttering: “Take care! This may well be my sister, or Maria!”

It was neither. The youngest of her three housemaids came in, bearing a jug and a glass on a tray. At sight of Mr Carleton this damsel stopped on the threshold, and stood goggling at him, with her eyes starting from their sockets.

“What the devil do you want?” demanded Mr Carleton, pardonably annoyed.

“Please, sir, I don’t want anything!” said the intruder, trembling with terror. “I didn’t know Miss had a visitor! Mrs Wardlow told me to bring the fresh barley-water up to Miss, being as Betty is sick!”

“Barley-water?” ejaculated Mr Carleton, in revolted accents. “Good God! No wonder that you are in low spirits if that’s what they give you to drink!”

“It has lemon in it, sir!” offered the maid.

“So much the worse! Take it away, and tell Limbury to send up some burgundy! My orders!”

“Yes, sir, b-but what will I say to Mrs Wardlow, if you p-please, sir?”

Miss Wychwood intervened. “You need say nothing to her, Lizzy. Just set the barley-water on that table, and desire Limbury to send up a bottle of burgundy for Mr Carleton .... And when it comes you will drink it,” she informed her visitor, as soon as Lizzy had scurried away. “I don’t want it!”

“You may think you don’t, but it is exactly what you do want!” he retorted. “Next they will be bringing you a bowl of gruel!”

“Oh, no!” said Miss Wychwood demurely. “Dr Tidmarsh says that I may have a little chicken now that I am so much better. Or even a slice of boiled mutton.”

“That ought to tempt you!” he said sardonically.

She smiled. “Well, to tell you the truth, I haven’t any appetite, so it doesn’t much signify what they bring me to eat!”

“Oh, how much I wish I had you under my own roof!”

“So that you could bullock me into eating my dinner, Mr Carleton? I shouldn’t like that at all!” she said, shaking her head.

“If you don’t stop calling me Mr Carleton, my girl, we shall very soon find ourselves at dagger-drawing!”

“Oh, that terrifies me into obedience—Oliver! What a shocking thing it would be if we were to fall out!”

He smiled, and raised her hand to his lips. “Shocking indeed! And so unprecedented!”

“It’s all very well for you to kiss my hand,” said Miss Wychwood austerely, “but what you ought to do is to promise that you will never quarrel with me again! But as I have known ever since I made your acquaintance that you haven’t the least notion of conducting yourself with elegance or propriety, I imagine it is ridiculous of me to expect that of you!”

“Quite ridiculous! I never promise what I know I can’t perform!”

“Odious creature!”

He grinned at her. “Should I be less odious if I humbugged you with court-promises? Of course we shall quarrel, for I have a naggy temper, and you, I thank God, are not one of those meek women who say yes and amen to everything! Which reminds me that I have hit on a solution to the problem of what to do with Lucilla to which I do expect you to say yes and amen!”

“But when we are married she will naturally live with us!”

“Oh, no, she will not!” he said, “If you imagine, my loved one, that I am prepared to stand by complacently while my bride devotes herself to my niece, rid yourself of that idiotic notion! Think for a moment! Do you really wish to include a third person—and one who must be chaperoned wherever she goes!—into our household? If you do, I do not! I want a wife,not a chaperon for my niece!” He took her hands, and held them in a compelling grasp. “A companion, Annis! Someone who may say, if I suggest to her that we should jaunt over to Paris, that she doesn’t feel inclined to go to Paris, but who won’t say: ‘But how can I leave Lucilla?’ Do you understand what I mean?”

“Oh, my dear, of course I do! I don’t wish to include a third person in our household, and I must own that fond though I am of Lucilla I do find that the task of looking after her is heavier than I had supposed it would be. But how unkind it would be to send her to live with someone else, for no fault of hers, but merely because we didn’t wish to be bothered with her! If she knew, and liked, any of her paternal aunts, or cousins, the case would be different, but she doesn’t, and thanks to that miserable aunt the only friends the poor child has are those she has made here, in Bath!”

“Yes, exactly so! What do you say to giving her into Mrs Stinchcombe’s charge until it is time for her to make her come-out?”

Miss Wychwood sat up with a jerk. “Oliver! Of course it would be the very thing for her, and what she would like best, I am very sure. But would Mrs Stinchcombe be willing to take her?”

“Perfectly willing. In fact, it was settled between us this morning! I came here straight from Laura Place. It was Mrs Stinchcombe who told me that you had been ill, and—Oh, lord, now what?”

But the timid tap on the door merely heralded the reappearance of Lizzy, who came in carrying a silver salver, on which stood a decanter, two of Miss Wychwood’s best Waterford wineglasses, and a wooden biscuit-tub with a silver lid. Mr Carleton, perceiving that the decanter was in imminent danger of sliding off the salver, got up quickly, and went to take the tray into his own hands, saying: “That’s a good girl! Run along now!”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” said Lizzy, and slid out of the room in a manner strongly suggestive of one escaping from a tiger’s cage.

Miss Wychwood, observing with some surprise her cherished Waterford glasses, said: “What in the world possessed Limbury to send up the best glasses? I only use them for parties! I collect you frightened him out of his wits, just as you frightened poor Lizzy!”

“No such thing!” said Mr Carleton, pouring burgundy into one of the best glasses. “Limbury is doing justice to this occasion. Good butlers are always awake upon every suit! Here you are, love: see if my prescription doesn’t pluck you up!”

Miss Wychwood took the glass, but refused to drink the burgundy unless Mr Carleton joined her. So he poured out a glass for himself, and was just raising it to toast her when Miss Farlow burst into the room, powerfully agitated, stopped dead on the threshold, and exclaimed: “Well!”

Miss Wychwood was startled into spilling some of the burgundy. She set her glass down, and tried to rub away the stains from the skirt of her gown with her handkerchief, saying crossly: “Really, Maria, it is too bad of you! Look what you have made me do! What do you want?”

“I am here, Annis, to preserve you from the consequences of your own folly!” said Miss Farlow. “How could you receive a member of the Male Sex in your bedchamber, and in your dressing-gown? Sir, I must request you to leave immediately!”

“You don’t mean to tell me that’s a dressing-gown?” interrupted Mr Carleton, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Well, it’s by far the most elegant one I’ve ever been privileged to see, and I suppose I must have seen scores of ’em in my time—paid for them too!”

“For goodness’ sake, Oliver—!” Miss Wychwood said, in an imploring whisper.

Trembling with outraged propriety, Miss Farlow uttered a terrible indictment of Mr Carleton’s manners, morals, and shameless disregard of the rules of conduct governing any man venturing to call himself a gentleman. A shattering retort rose to his lips, but he bit it back, because he saw that Miss Wychwood was by no means enjoying this encounter, and merely said: “Well, now that you have convinced me, ma’am, that I am so far sunk in moral turpitude as to be past praying for, may I suggest that you withdraw from this scene of vice?”

“Nothing,” declared Miss Farlow, “will prevail upon me to leave this room while you remain in it, sir! I do not know by what means you forced yourself into it—”

“Oh, do, pray, Maria, stop talking such fustian nonsense, and go away!” begged Miss Wychwood. “Mr Carleton did not force his way into my room! He came at my invitation, and if I have to listen to any more ranting from you I shall go into strong hysterics!”

“Sir Geoffrey entrusted you to my care, Annis, and never shall it be said of me that I betrayed the confidence he reposed in me! Since Jurby has been so unmindful of her duty—not that that surprises me, for I have always considered that you permitted her far too much license, so that she has grown to be so big in her own esteem that—”

“Oh, cut line, woman!” said Mr Carleton, striding to the door, and opening it. “Miss Wychwood has asked you to go away, and I have every intention of seeing to it that you do go away! Don’t keep me waiting!”

“And leave my sacred charge unprotected? Never!” declared Miss Farlow heroically.

“Oh, for God’s sake—!” snapped Mr Carleton, at the end of his patience. “What the devil do you suppose I’m going to do to her? Rape her? I will give you thirty seconds to leave this room, and if you are not on the other side of the door by that time I shall eject you forcibly!”

“Brute!” ejaculated Miss Farlow, bursting into tears. “Offering violence to a defenceless female! Only wait until Sir Geoffrey knows of this!”

He paid no heed, but kept his eyes on his watch. Miss Farlow hesitated between heroism and fright. He shut his watch with a snap, restored it to his pocket, and advanced purposefully towards her. Miss Farlow’s courage failed. She uttered a shriek, and ran out of the room.

Mr Carleton shut the door, and applied himself to the more agreeable task of soothing Miss Wychwood’s lacerated nerves, in which he succeeded so well that in a very short space of time her racing pulses had steadied to a normal rate, and she not only allowed herself to be coaxed to swallow the rest of the burgundy in her glass, but even to nibble a biscuit.